Interfering
by Keitorin Asthore
Summary: Kurt has never been one to ask for help. But when a prank goes too far, he has no choice but to reluctantly let Finn and Quinn interfere on his behalf.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and fox, not me.

* * *

He knew something was wrong when he heard the hockey team laughing.

The guys on the hockey team didn't laugh, especially after a three-hour practice running suicides in the south gym. And yet there they were, laughing and talking loudly as they filed into the boys' locker room.

"I bet he's still in there," Karofsky howled. "He's probably still bangin' on those doors."

"And crying for his mom," Azimio added.

Finn dropped his football shoes into his bag and pulled on his sneakers. He tied them quietly, trying to figure out what they were talking about. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good.

"Are we just going to leave him that closet?"

Karofsky shrugged. "The night shift janitor will probably hear him," he said. "Besides, maybe getting stuck in a closet will teach him to stay in there."

Finn tied his shoes slowly as he put the pieces together. They had shoved someone in a closet. Some guy. They were going to leave him there.

_I'll wait till they leave, then check it out, _he thought. _Poor kid. Probably some freshman who got in their way._

"Little faggot," Azimio snorted. "That ought to keep him in line for a while."

Finn froze. There was only one person they could possibly be talking about.

Karofsky pulled a cobalt blue jacket out of his locker and tossed on the bench. "Wonder how much I'll get on eBay for this," he said. "The fag's always talking about how expensive his crap is."

Now he knew.

Finn grabbed his gym bag and bolted. The door slammed behind him with a bang. He ran down the darkened, quiet halls of the high school.

It was seven o'clock. The football and hockey and cheerleading practices were finally over; people were heading home to parents and dinner and homework. If the hockey team had stuffed Kurt in a closet, it would have been at three o'clock, when classes were over and practices were beginning.

Four hours in a closet. Finn didn't like thinking about it.

He shouldered his bag and started checking the handles of every door he passed. "Kurt?" he called softly. "Kurt, are you there?" He didn't hear an answer. Finn picked up his pace.

If it was Wednesday, Burt would still be in Cleveland, delivering that Range Rover he'd repaired. He wouldn't have noticed if Kurt hadn't made it home, or called him to see if he was okay. Probably.

Finn rummaged in his pocket for his phone and hit the speed dial for Kurt's number. It rang multiple times before finally transferring to Kurt's annoying voicemail, the one where he sang along to some show tune. He closed the phone and jammed it back in the pocket of his jeans.

He opened the door to the choir room. A few pieces of sheet music had drifted to the floor of the risers. The cover was closed over the piano. A rolling rack of folding chairs had been moved over the closet doors.

Finn halted.

He inched towards the closet. It might have been possible that he heard something moving inside. Or it could just be his imagination. Or wishful thinking.

Finn approached the closed doors cautiously. "Kurt?" he said, his voice sounding too loud in the silence.

He jumped back when something began to bang on the closed doors, over and over and over again. It was like a live reenactment of a horror movie.

"Kurt, it's Finn," he called. "Calm down. I'll get you out." He got behind the rack and pulled it out of the way, the casters shrieking as they rolled across the tile floor. The second he had cleared the closet doors, they banged open, slamming into the walls with an ear-splitting clang.

Kurt burst out of the closet and didn't look back. He ran, stumbling across the room, lurching like he was drunk, and bolted down the hall. Finn only caught a glimpse of him, but it was enough for him to know that things were really, seriously wrong.

"Kurt!" he shouted, taking off after him.

He had never seen Kurt run like that before. Kurt wasn't a runner. Never was, never would be. And yet he had to actually jog to keep up with him. He chased him down the shadowed halls, trying to keep up.

Kurt ducked into the small teacher's bathroom in the south wing and flung the door closed. Finn grabbed the handle just as he heard the small, finite click of the lock. "Kurt?" he said, shaking the handle. "Kurt, c'mon. Talk to me."

The faucet turned on. Through the door he could hear the endless splash of the water, full blast, pouring into the ceramic sink.

"Kurt, it's okay," Finn reassured. "You can come out." No answer. Just the sound of water pouring.

Finn rattled the handle. "Kurt! Let me in!" he insisted. "I'm not going anywhere. Kurt!"

He kept it up, calling his name, shaking the door. He never got any answer, but he kept going anyway.

"Finn, if you have to pee that bad, there's a bathroom down the hall."

He whirled around. Quinn stood in the hallway, her cheerleading bag slung over her shoulder, her arms folded across her chest. She was wearing a sky blue dress and her hair, damp and curling after a post-practice shower, was clipped back on the sides. "You have to help me," Finn blurted out.

"With what?" she asked, not moving.

"The hockey jerks locked Kurt in the choir room closet after school ended," he explained. "I heard them talking about it when they came in from practice. I got him out, but he ran in there and he won't listen to me."

Quinn's arms dropped to her sides. "Is he all right?" she demanded.

"I don't know," Finn said. "I don't think so. He's been in there a while and he won't talk."

She took a step back. "So what do you expect me to do about it?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"He won't listen to me, but he might listen to you," Finn said. "He likes you better than me."

"But you live together. Why wouldn't he-"

"We got in a fight a few months ago," Finn admitted. He hadn't told anyone about the incident in the basement, and now didn't seem like a particularly good time to get into it. "We get along all right now, but he hasn't…he hasn't been the same around me since."

She looked away from him and bit her lip.

"Please, Quinn," he pleaded. "I'll never be able to get him out of there."

She paused. At long last she set her cheerleading bag carefully on the floor and approached the locked bathroom. She knocked lightly. "Kurt?" she called. "Kurt, it's Quinn."

He still didn't answer. Finn held his breath. It sounded like the water might have been turned down, just a little bit.

"Kurt, I just want to make sure you'll all right," she said. "Will you let me in, please?"

The water didn't stop, but there was a tiny muted click. Kurt had unlocked the bathroom door.

Quinn placed her hand on the knob and turned it slowly. Finn was at the wrong angle to look inside, but he heard her breathe in sharply. "Oh my god, Kurt," she whispered.

And that was all it took.

"I can't let my dad see," Kurt said. He was talking far too fast; his breathing was too quick and heavy. "My dad can't see. He can't! It'll kill him! It'll kill him!"

"It's going to be okay," Quinn reassured him, speaking in a soft low voice like someone would talk to a spooked animal. Kurt's breathing sounded awful, hitched and tight, like someone had seized his lungs and tried to hold them closed. "Let me see. Hold still and let me look." Finn waited, shifting his weight anxiously from one leg to the other. "Finn," she said, still in that soft voice. "I have a bottle of hand sanitizer in the outside pocket of my bag. Can you get it?"

"Sure," he mumbled. He unzipped the pouch and pulled out the travel-size bottle of clear hand sanitizer, then stepped into the tiny room and handed it to her.

Kurt stood in the middle of the room, his eyes wild. His face had been crudely marked over with a purple sharpie. Clumsily drawn rainbows arced over his cheeks and neck, and the word FAGGOT stood out on his forehead like a beacon. His skin was rubbed red and raw where he had attempted to scrub away the awful words with soap and water. Finn stared at him, unable to look away.

Quinn took the bottle from his drooping hand and poured some of the liquid into her fingertips. "This is going to sting a little, but it'll take the ink away," she promised. "Just hold still for me."

She touched her fingers to his cheek and began to rub at the purple permanent drawing with firm circular motions. Kurt flinched, but the deep purple lines began to turn lavender and drip away. Quinn worked slowly and methodically, pouring it into her palms and then rubbing it into Kurt's skin.

Finn ducked back into the hallway, feeling like he was gulping for air himself. _I didn't know they would do something like that, _he thought miserably. _I thought they would stick to dumpster dives and slushies. Not something like this._

Quinn went back into the hall and tucked the nearly empty bottle into her pouch. "Finn, take off your shoes and give me your hoodie," she ordered softly.

"My what?" he stammered.

"You have your football shoes in your bag, don't you?" she said.. "Change into them and give the other pair to Kurt."

He bent to obey. "Did they really take his shoes?" he whispered. Quinn nodded. She took the items when he handed them to her and disappeared into the tiny room. He heard her talking to Kurt, urging him gently to just put his hands through the sleeves.

After a moment they both joined him in the hall. Kurt kept his head down. He was dwarfed by the size of Finn's jacket hanging off his shoulders and covering his hands. Finn's shoes looked clownish on him too; the visual effect of the combination would have been laughable if it hadn't been awful. Patches of Kurt's face were left lavender, and there was an entire section of his hair that was red and matted with dried blood. The knees of his skinny jeans were badly torn and reddened as well, as if he'd been forced on his knees and dragged.

Quinn tucked a protective arm around Kurt's thin waist. "Do you know where your things are?" she asked gently.

He shook his head. "They…they took it…I don't know where, but…"

His voice was still caught in that painful, breathless hitch, like a child that has cried too hard to breathe properly. Quinn tightened her arm around him. "Don't worry about it," she said. "I'll take you home."

She glanced up at Finn. "You too, I guess," she said.

He nodded. She kept her arm around Kurt and helped him take a step down the hallway. Finn bent to pick up Quinn's bag and followed him, almost hovering.

It was colder outside than he expected; October in Ohio was vicious and unpredictable. He shivered slightly in his thin tee shirt. Quinn seemed unaffected. She kept her arm tightly around Kurt and spoke to him quietly.

Kurt stumbled to a stop as they passed his car, parked in its usual spot. "I can drive," he murmured, pulling away from Quinn's protective arm. "Thanks, but I can drive home."

"No, you can't," she snapped.

Finn reached Kurt before Quinn did. He took him by the arm and pulled him away from the Navigator, as gently as he could manage. Kurt tripped over his borrowed shoes, falling against Finn's side.

"Sorry," Kurt mumbled.

Finn didn't know what to say. He just kept his hand on Kurt's arm, doing his best to keep him from falling over.

Quinn unlocked the doors of her little blue car and popped the trunk. "Put my stuff in there," she said. She took Kurt's hands in hers and led him to the passenger seat. Finn ducked his head and loaded their bags into the trunk.

"I need my stuff," Kurt mumbled. "They took my bag. I need it back."

Quinn tipped the passenger seat back so he could lie down and buckled him in. "We'll worry about that later," she said.

She brushed past Finn. "What should-"

"Sit in the back," she said.

He obeyed, taking the seat behind hers. Quinn got into the driver's seat and pulled away from the school. They rode in awkward silence without the token sound of the radio. Kurt stayed quiet, curling into the passenger seat with his arms wrapped around himself. Quinn drove with her left hand on the steering wheel and her right hand on Kurt's knee, occasionally rubbing her thumb lightly against the skin exposed through the rips in his jeans.

The Hudson-Hummel house was dark and silent. Finn had never wished so badly for his mother to be home. Quinn pulled into the driveway and parked. "Finn, do you have your keys?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh…yeah," he stammered.

"Give them to me," she said. "I don't think I can get Kurt up the steps."

Finn pulled his keys out of his pocket and handed them to Quinn, then got out of the car and opened the passenger side door. Kurt didn't turn around to look at him.

"Hey," Finn said softly. "Can you stand up?"

"Yeah," Kurt said. He unlocked his seatbelt and crawled out of the car. Finn wrapped an arm around him. Slowly he led him up the driveway and up the front steps. He could feel Kurt shaking.

Quinn had opened the door and turned on the lights. She stood in the doorway, waiting for them. "Kurt, you need to get cleaned up," she said, touching her hand lightly against his bruised cheeks.

"I'm fine," he mumbled. "Thanks for getting me home, but…"

He lost his balance. Finn grabbed him before he could fall. "Dude, you're not okay," he said quietly.

"You're going to have to carry him," Quinn said.

"No," Kurt said, shaking his head. "No, I'm fine. I'm really fine." Finn wrapped one arm around Kurt's shoulders and slid the other under his knees, then picked him up in one smooth motion. He was even lighter than he looked.

Finn carried Kurt down the stairs to their bedroom. Quinn followed them and turned on the lights. Kurt turned his face away, burying his cheek against Finn's broad shoulder, as he carefully carried him into the room and set him down on his bed.

Quinn was beside him in a heartbeat, helping him into a sitting position. Finn backed away and let Quinn take over. She slid Finn's hoodie off of Kurt's arms and set it aside, then took off his shoes. His feet were badly scraped and bleeding. Finn wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened to cause that.

Kurt stared blankly at the wall, dazed. Quinn pulled her phone out of her pocket. "What are you doing?" Finn asked.

"We need pictures," she said.

"For what?"

She bit her lip and steadied the phone. "Proof," she said. "They can't get away with this."

Kurt grabbed her by the wrist. "No," he pleaded. "No, it won't do anything."

"We have to take this to the police," she said. "This wasn't just some random bullying, Kurt. They went after you. They _hurt _you."

"It'll just be worse next time," he said, his voice rising.

Finn opened his nightstand door and rummaged through the junk. "What are you doing?" Quinn asked.

He pulled out the camera that he had gotten for Christmas a few years earlier and rarely used. "You'll need better pictures," he said quietly. "Kurt, if we go to the police, there won't be a next time."

Quinn picked up the camera, balancing it carefully in her slender hands. She reached over and tilted Kurt's chin towards her. She took a photograph of his marked face, the flash making the faded purple marks shine back into focus.

She handed the camera back to Finn and gently unbuttoned the torn, bloodied remains of his shirt. He winced as she lifted his arms and tugged the shirt away. She tossed it on the floor and picked up the camera.

Every shutter click sounded like a gunshot in the silence. Kurt allowed Quinn to raise his arms and turn him gently so that she could take pictures of his injuries. Finn realized idly that he had never seen Kurt without his shirt on. He was thin and pale, but his skin was marked with bruises and scrapes.

Quinn took Kurt by the elbows and made him stand up. He stood by his bed, shaking like a leaf, as Quinn unfastened his jeans and tugged them down around his hips. "C'mon," Finn heard her say to him gently. "C'mon. It's okay."

She helped him take off his jeans. His knees were torn up- red and dirty with gravel. He held his chin high, still stubborn in his pride, as she documented the marks on his thin legs.

Quinn stepped back and looked him up and down. "You look awful," she said quietly. "Go take a shower. I'll make you something to eat."

He wrapped his arms protectively around himself, dressed only in his dark green boxers, looking smaller and younger than Finn had ever seen him. "I'm fine," he repeated in a tiny hoarse voice.

"No, you're not," Quinn said flatly. "You're not going to win this argument. Go take a shower, Kurt, and then you're going to come upstairs and eat something." He turned around and walked into the bathroom, closing the door securely behind him. "Is he going to be all right?" Finn asked.

She shrugged. "Stay here in case he needs help," she said. She turned and walked up the stairs. Finn sank down to Kurt's bed, staring at the floor and listening to the sound of the shower running.

He wasn't good with situations like this. Whenever someone got hurt in football, he slunk to the sidelines until someone else had taken care of it. Whenever a girl cried during glee rehearsal, he let someone else handle it.

Now he was stuck.

He picked at the decorative stitching on Kurt's satin comforter. _How did things get like this? _he thought unhappily.

He knew he could have done more to keep the whole bullying thing in check. It was just hard. Every time he stepped in to fight Kurt's battles for him, it gave Karofsky and Azimio that much more ammunition against him, to make _his _life a living hell.

_That's not fair, _he suddenly realized.

It wasn't fair for Kurt to fight all of his battles alone, staring his enemies down with nothing a hair toss and a well-timed insult. Kurt could stand up for himself with his words, with his attitudes, but physically?

Not so much.

Something clattered upstairs. Finn listened closely; he heard whatever it was roll noisily across the floor, and then Quinn swore. That was never good. Quinn didn't swear much, but when she did, she meant business.

Finn ran up the stairs. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Quinn sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. "I'm fine," she said. She got up and picked up her phone from where it lay discarded on the floor.

"You swore," he said.

"So?"

"You don't swear unless something's really, really wrong," he said quietly.

She sighed and turned towards the stove. "I called the police to file the report," she said. She picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the contents of a saucepan. "They want me to come in first thing tomorrow with the pictures."

"So?" he said. "Isn't that a good thing? They want to help."

She put her hands on the counter. "We shouldn't have to do this, Finn," she said through her teeth. "No one should have done this to Kurt in the first place. No one deserves it, especially not him."

He stood awkwardly in the doorway of the kitchen. "Bad things happen," he said. "We can't…we can't go back and fix it, but we can do what we can to help."

She kept her back to him. "I just want to go home and pretend this didn't happen," she said. "But I can't…I can't leave him alone like this."

Her voice trembled and her shoulders shook. Without thinking, Finn walked over and put his hands on her upper arms. "It's okay," he said.

His attempts at comfort were apparently an abject failure, because she began to cry in earnest, hiding her face in her hands. "What?" he said, drawing back. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," she said, gulping in a deep breath and wiping her hands across her damp face. "I'm sorry. I just…this is the first time we've actually talked since you found out that you weren't…that Puck and I…"

"Yeah," he said softly.

She turned back to the stove, trying her best to not look him in the eyes. "I really am sorry," she whispered. "I made a mistake, and I dragged you into it, and-"

"Quinn," he said. She looked at him over her shoulder, her blonde curls falling around her face. "I know."

Her chin trembled. "You would have been a really good dad," she said.

He half-smiled. "And you would have been a really good mom," he said. "You're doing a great job with Kurt."

She fiddled with the knobs on the stove. "You should check on him," she whispered.

He reached over and squeezed her shoulder, then walked away. The shower had stopped running, and the air smelled warm and heavy with shampoo. He stopped on the landing and leaned over the railing. "Kurt?" he called.

No one answered. He walked into the room and looked into Kurt's side of the room. Kurt was curled up on his bed, half dressed in loose pajama pants, his wet hair making a dark splotch on his pillow.

Finn knelt down beside him. "Hey," he said softly. "Are you okay?"

Kurt opened his eyes slowly. "I'm fine," he said.

"Quinn's making you something to eat," he said. "Do you want to stay here, or do you want to go upstairs?"

He turned his face further into the pillow. "I'm not hungry," he said.

"Kurt, you haven't eaten since lunch," Finn said. "And you've been through hell. You need to eat."

Kurt closed his eyes and refused to answer.

"If you don't, Quinn will just force you."

Kurt sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position, keeping his hands closed in fists. "Let me get my shirt," he said, his voice sounding raspy.

Kurt tried to stand up, but Finn picked up a clean tee shirt from the open dresser drawer and handed it to him. He put it on slowly, as if it was too painful to move his arms.

"Can you walk?" Finn asked.

"I can handle it," Kurt said stiffly. He stood up cautiously, his legs still wobbling, but he pushed away Finn's attempts to help him. It took him a while to walk across the room and pull himself up the stairs, holding on tightly to the railing. Finn followed close behind him. He kept his hands out, just in case Kurt stumbled. But luckily he made it up the stairs without falling.

Quinn looked up when she heard them coming. She had scrubbed away any trace of tears; her eyes only looked faintly red-rimmed. "You shouldn't be moving around so much," she scolded.

"It's fine," Kurt said. He lowered himself slowly onto the couch. He hid it well, but Finn still noticed when he clamped his lips together in pain. He sat down on the opposite edge of the couch, unsure of what to do.

Quinn picked up a throw blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over him. "Lie still," she said, tucking it around him securely. "I made you some soup."

"I'm not hungry."

She ignored him and went into the kitchen, reappearing a few minutes later with a mug full of soup, a sandwich, and a tall glass of water. "You need to eat at least a little bit," she said, setting it out on the coffee table.

Kurt closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I can take care of myself," he said.

"Either you eat, or I'm going to feed you," she said.

Reluctantly he picked up the mug and ate a spoonful of soup, making a face at her as if to passive-aggressively declare that she wasn't the boss of him. But the one bite turned into several, and soon he was tearing into the food as if he was starving.

Finn fiddled with the television remote and it turned on, suddenly blaring into the silence. He turned it down quickly, but Kurt and Quinn didn't seem to notice. She was still watching him closely, with a strange expression on her face, as if she desperately wanted to say something and couldn't.

Finn flipped around the channels, trying to find something that Kurt might actually want to watch. He switched past a football game and a soccer match before settling on a movie on TBS. Kurt didn't seem to notice. He kept eating, steady and methodical, like he was trying to pretend they weren't there.

Quinn got up, patting Kurt's knee as she passed him, and walked down the hallway. Finn cleared his throat. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine," Kurt said quietly. He picked up the glass of water and sipped it slowly.

Quinn walked back towards them with a plastic case in her hand. She set it down on the floor and took the dishes from Kurt's hands. "Sit up," she said.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She pulled the blanket back and shifted his legs so his feet touched the floor, then pushed the hems of his pajama pants up to his thighs. The deep scrapes on his knees had been cleaned of dirt and gravel, but they were still red and raw. Quinn opened the plastic case and pulled out a bottle of disinfectant.

"This is going to hurt," Quinn said quietly.

She poured a small amount onto a clean beige washcloth and dabbed it against Kurt's left knee. He winced and grabbed the armrest of the couch. Quinn continued to work over Kurt's injuries, keeping her eyes steadily on his knees. Finn watched her smooth slender hands touch the washcloth against the angry red marks.

Kurt suddenly lunged forward. Quinn dropped the washcloth and put her hands on his shoulders. "What's wrong?" she said softly.

"That hurts," he said through his teeth, wrapping his arms around his stomach. "That really hurts."

"Do you want to lie down?" she asked. He nodded.

She glanced over her shoulder at Finn. It took a second for him to realize it, but he understood what she meant. He reached over and moved Kurt so his shoulders were against the armrest and his legs were propped up on the couch. Quinn sat down next to him and poured the pale blue disinfectant onto the washcloth.

Finn saw Kurt brace himself. Without thinking, he reached over and took Kurt by the hand. Kurt gripped his hand tightly, his thin knuckles turning stark white. Quinn kept working, cleaning out the deep red scrapes. She set the washcloth aside and picked up a tube of neosporin and a roll of gauze. Kurt watched her, his eyes wide, as she lifted his knee, smeared neosporin over the wound, and wrapped the bandages over the deep scrape. She worked over his knees, doing her best to be as gentle as possible.

After a while she moved to the far end of the couch and lifted his right foot onto her lap. "You'd better not kick me," she murmured.

Kurt tightened his grip on Finn's hand; Finn wasn't sure if he had any feeling left in his fingers. Quinn touched the cloth to Kurt's foot, and he hissed through his teeth. "Stop it," he said. "Stop it, stop."

She leaned back. "Kurt, it's going to get worse if you don't let me take care of it," she said.

He pulled away, dropping Finn's hand, and lurched to his feet. "I can take care of it myself, okay?" he said.

He only made it a few steps before falling forward. Finn's reflexes kicked in; he jumped up and grabbed Kurt around his waist before he could hit the floor.

Kurt was shaking. It took Finn a moment before he realized that he was crying. "Hey," he said, unable to mask the surprise in his voice. "Hey, c'mon, Kurt. You're okay."

He tugged Kurt back and set him down on the couch. He buried his face in his hands and curled up in the corner. Quinn sat down beside him and put her arms around him. Kurt didn't seem to notice her.

"Can't you tell us how this happened?" she said softly.

Kurt kept his face hidden. "I ran into the hockey guys when I was leaving school," he said, his voice quiet and tense. "It was in the parking lot. They started roughing me up…I figured it would end with the typical dumpster dive. But…I might have said some things I shouldn't have. It just made them angrier."

He swallowed hard, his hands still covering his face. Quinn pulled him a little closer, until her cheek was resting against his temple. "They took my stuff. They took my shoes. And they dragged me though the parking lot," he said. "I guess they knocked me out for a while, because I kind of don't know what happened. All I know is that I woke up in the choir room, and they were drawing on my face. Then they…they shoved me in the closet and moved the chairs over it."

He moved his hands away from his face and held them out, shaking. His fingernails were torn and broken, and his hands were badly scraped. Quinn cupped his hands in hers.

"I was in there for a really long time," he whispered.

He looked awful by that point- his face blotchy, his eyes red-rimmed, his lips trembling. Quinn tugged him gently against her, putting one arm around his thin waist and the other against the side of his head. She stroked her fingers through his hair. He leaned heavily against her.

Finn moved a little closer and sat down on the back of the couch. He put his hand on Kurt's shoulder and rubbed his thumb against the back of his neck. "It's not going to happen again," he said. "I…I won't let it happen again."

Kurt sagged in Quinn's arms and she hugged him tightly. Finn stood by them, feeling helpless. All he knew was that this couldn't happen again. And it wouldn't happen, if he had anything to say about it.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Wow. I like making Kurt suffer, apparently.

This is a oneshot at the moment, but if enough people are interested- and can help me out with ideas- I might be able to expand upon this.

Also, it is entirely true that permanent marker comes off with hand sanitizer. The more you know!

I really like exploring the idea of Quinn stifling all of her desires to be a mother. And Kurt needs somebody to mommy him. So it works out.

I also realized that Finn and Quinn haven't really talked since he found out he wasn't the baby's father. That's something else I might explore.

Special thanks go to I Spiked the Ice Cream and psychopiratess, who read this (well, most of it) first. They're my dynamic duo beta-reading team. They're pretty awesome. And they're sisters. And I'm practically sister #3. So we're all pretty awesome.

Aaaaand I'm rambling.

Let me know what you think of this, and if you want to see more from this story!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

Finn woke up at the sound of a key turning in the lock. He sat up quickly, his head spinning and his thoughts sluggish from sleep. His neck ached from leaning against the couch. The television still played, although it was showing an infomercial instead of the movie.

The key clicked in the lock and the front door swung open. Carole Hudson walked into the house and frowned as she closed the door. "Finn?" she said. "Honey, what are you doing? Are you okay?"

"Uh…hi, Mom," he mumbled, his tongue thick and heavy. He rubbed his eyes as he got up from the living room floor. "I'm fine. We…uh, fell asleep."

"I can see that," Carole said. "What's Quinn doing here?"

Finn followed her gaze and looked down at the couch. Quinn and Kurt were both asleep, snuggled together, his head resting on her shoulder and her hand curled protectively around the back of his neck. He remembered Kurt lying down when Quinn had finished bandaging his injuries. They must have fallen asleep shortly afterwards.

Quinn was beginning to rouse. She opened her eyes and blinked. "Hi, Mrs. Hudson," she whispered.

"Is Kurt all right?" she asked.

"He, uh…he ran into the hockey team," Finn stammered. "They…um…they…"

Quinn tried to sit up without moving Kurt and waking him. "They beat him up," she said. "It was pretty bad."

Carole knelt down beside the couch and brushed Kurt's hair away from his forehead. "Is he all right?" she asked.

"He's better than he was," Quinn said.

"She got him bandaged up and made sure he ate something," Finn added. "She took really good care of him."

"And I took pictures of his injuries," Quinn said. "The police want me to bring them in in the morning."

Carole looked up. "It's bad enough for a police report?" she said, her voice rising. Quinn nodded. "Have you called his dad?"

Finn squirmed. "No, uh…I guess not," he said.

"You should have called him, Finn. He won't be back from Cleveland until tomorrow afternoon," she said. She checked her watch. "It's one o'clock in the morning. I'll call him first thing tomorrow."

Kurt started to wake up, taking in a deep breath. He shifted restlessly in Quinn's arms and opened his eyes. "What's goin' on?" he slurred.

"It's Carole, honey," she said. "I heard you had a pretty rough day."

Kurt nodded, rubbing his eyes drowsily, his face flushed from sleep. "I don't feel very well," he mumbled.

"You should go back to sleep," Carole said. "We can talk about what happened later." Kurt nodded and turned back towards Quinn, cuddling against her side. "No, honey, you need to sleep in your own bed."

Finn stepped past his mother, bent over the couch, and picked Kurt up easily. Caught in his half-asleep state, he didn't fight back. "I'll take him downstairs," he said.

Kurt grabbed Finn's shoulder and pulled himself up. "Quinn?" he said.

"I'm right here," she said, rising to her feet and putting her hand on his arm. "I'm right here. What's wrong?"

He reached for her, wrapping his fingers around the sleeve of her dress. "Can you stay?" he asked.

"Honey, I'm not sure if that's a good idea," Carole hedged.

"I think she should, Mom," Finn said quietly.

Carole looked from her son to his ex-girlfriend. "Kurt, will you feel better if she stays with you?" she asked. He nodded. Carole sighed. "All right, then. Let me know if you need anything during the night, okay?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson," Quinn whispered.

"You two are going to tell me everything in the morning," she said. It was clearly not a request.

"Yes, ma'am," Finn said.

Carole squeezed his arm, then touched Kurt's cheek. "I'll be upstairs if you need me," she said.

Finn readjusted Kurt in his arms and carried him down the stairs, Quinn close behind. Kurt was beginning to wake up for real now, and he lifted his head from Finn's shoulder. Finn set him down carefully on his bed.

"Thanks," Kurt mumbled, turning his face into his pillow. Finn tried to come up with a response, failed, and just backed away.

Quinn stood next to Kurt and placed her hand lightly on his chest. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said. "Just tired."

Quinn smiled at him. "Me too," she said. "I guess I'll sleep on your couch, if you don't mind."

"That's fine," Kurt murmured.

Finn scratched the back of his neck. "I've got some clothes you can borrow, if you want," he offered.

Quinn looked away. "Thanks," she said.

Silently he pulled a tee shirt and a pair of basketball shorts that were a little too small for him out of his dresser drawer and handed them to her. She patted Kurt's chest. "I'll be right back, okay?" she said. He nodded, and she got up and went into the little bathroom.

Finn sighed heavily and undressed. _This is going to be ten kinds of awkward, _he thought. The last time he had shared a room with Quinn was when she was still pregnant, and he still thought it was his baby. They hadn't spoken more than a few words to each other in months…and now he had to share a bedroom with her.

_Rachel isn't going to like this, _he thought. _But maybe if I tell her it was for Kurt's sake…_

He glanced over at Kurt. His almost-stepbrother had pulled the covers over his head, as if he was trying to hide from something. Now that he thought about it…he probably was.

Quinn emerged from the bathroom in Finn's oversized clothes, her blue dress hanging neatly over her arm. She padded over to her duffel bag, her bare feet making no sound on the floor, and put her things away.

"Quinn?" Kurt called sleepily.

"I'll be right there," she said. "I have to let my mom know where I am. She's probably worried." She picked up her cellphone, tucked her hair behind her ear, and typed out a text message.

Finn sat down on his bed, across the room from Kurt's. He knew that he must still be hurting, because usually Kurt fell asleep in some weird position- one leg drawn up to his chest, and the other sprawled out, and his arms either tucked under his chest or dangling over the side of the bed. Instead, he lay flat on his back, with his hands resting on his stomach.

Quinn put her phone away and walked over to Kurt's bed. "Wake me up when you need me," she said. There was no _if, _she said _when. _Kurt nodded. She wrapped her hands around his and bent over him, her golden hair brushing lightly against his cheek.

Finn felt like an intruder. His mind was suddenly betraying him with thoughts of Quinn bending over her child, their child, kissing it goodnight and singing it to sleep.

But that was a dream, and in reality he wasn't a father, and Quinn's little girl was being rocked to sleep by someone else.

Quinn cupped Kurt's face in her hands, her eyes bright and gentle. Finn wondered if Kurt's own mother would be like this, if she was still alive.

Kurt rarely spoke about his mother, and Burt never. His own mother had explained to him about Mollie Hummel, that she was still a teenager when Kurt was born, that she was the foundation of their little family, and that when she had died at the age of twenty-six, when Kurt was only eight, it nearly destroyed them.

Kurt gazed up into Quinn's face, his eyes large and sleepy. She trailed her finger along the curve of his cheek and his jaw line, then touched her thumb against his pale lips. "Goodnight," she said softly.

And then, impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

Kurt's eyes widened even further. "What did you do?" he whispered.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "You just…you look so young, and sad, and…I'm sorry, Kurt, I didn't mean to."

He gripped her hands tightly. "No," he said. "No, it's…it's okay, it's just…" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "It's been a long time."

For a second Finn thought she was going to kiss him again. Instead, she only stroked his hair and pressed her cheek against his. "Go to sleep," she said.

Kurt watched her as she tucked the blankets securely around him. Quinn got up and walked away, her hand trailing gently over him. Finn watched her lie down on the couch and pull the throw blanket over herself. He looked from his ex-girlfriend to his distant stepbrother, knowing they were both shaken, but all he could do was turn off the lights and burrow under the covers.

He woke up when his alarm went off; he stumbled out of bed, his head still aching from not enough sleep, and shut it off. Yawning loudly, he looked at Kurt's bed. It was empty and neatly made. He frowned and looked at the couch. Quinn was gone, the blanket folded over the back, but her duffel bag was still there.

Finn headed upstairs. Quinn and his mother were sitting on the couch in the living room, talking in low voices. They looked up when he came in. "Morning," he said. "What's going on?"

"Quinn was telling me what happened to Kurt," Carole said. "I'm glad you found him when you did."

"Where is he?" Finn asked.

Quinn glanced over at the kitchen; he followed her gaze. Kurt sat at the kitchen table, dressed but barefoot, picking aimlessly at a bowl of cereal. "He's insisting on going to school," she said softly.

"Well, he's not going," Finn said. "There's no way."

"He won't take no for an answer," Quinn said.

Finn turned his mother. "You're not going to let him go, right?" he said.

"Honey, Kurt's not my son," she said. "I can't force him to do anything."

"What about his dad?" Finn tried.

"I've called him three times already. His phone's turned off. I have to wait until he checks his voicemail," Carole said. "I'm sure that as soon as he checks his phone he'll call the school and tell them to send Kurt home." She put her hand on top of Finn's. "Just stick by him, all right? Keep him safe."

"I will," he promised.

Quinn got up from the kitchen table. "We'd better leave soon," she said. "If Kurt wants to go to school, we should get him there before the hockey jerks do."

"What about the police?" Finn asked.

"I'll go after school," she said. "I don't have time to print out the pictures and stop by the police station."

The clock in the kitchen chimed 7:00. "Go get ready, Finn," Carole said. "Don't make them wait."

He headed downstairs, took a shower, and got dressed. By the time he was ready, Quinn and Kurt were waiting for him in the living room. If he hadn't seen Kurt's injuries with his own eyes, he never would have guessed that anything that had happened to him. He was neatly dressed, in long sleeves and loose pants, and he wore a pair of fingerless gloves that covered his scraped palms and drew one's eyes away from his broken fingernails.

Quinn picked up her duffel bag and her backpack. "Let's go," she said, her red slitted skirt swishing around her hips as she walked towards her car. Finn trailed behind them. Kurt walked slowly, limping heavily.

Finn hunched in the backseat of Quinn's sedan. Her car was entirely too small for his long legs. Kurt sat in the passenger seat, tugging lightly on his constricting seatbelt. Quinn reached over and put her hand over his, calming him down with a gentle pat.

_Today is going to suck, _Finn thought.

Clearly, Kurt hadn't thought this through. The hockey guys were expecting him to have stayed in that closet for hours and hours, maybe even overnight. They were expecting a full-scale dramatic breakdown. So if Kurt showed up for school, perfectly dressed, no sign of injuries, it would…

Well, now that he thought about it, maybe Kurt was right. Coming back to school was probably the best "screw you" rebuttal he could offer.

The McKinley parking lot was mostly empty. Quinn pulled her car up close to the school building and parked. "Kurt, what's your school schedule?" she asked.

He leaned back against the passenger seat headrest and sighed. "Ethics, biology, French," he recited. "History, lunch, computer science, English. Then glee."

She reached over and put her hand on his thigh. "Someone's going to stay with you all day, all right?" she said. He opened his mouth to argue and she pinched him lightly. "You're the one who insisted on coming back here. We might have to go along with it, but that doesn't mean we'll let you do it alone."

Kurt sighed and got out of the car. Finn scrambled out of the backseat and caught up with him. Quinn locked the door, shouldered her bag, and walked with them into the school building.

It was quiet inside, almost peaceful. A handful of students milled around the hallways, finishing up homework assignments and tidying up their lockers. A couple of football players leaned against the doorway to the gym, laughing about something. Kurt sidled closer to Quinn; she took his hand gently in hers.

Finn sucked in his breath. He knew it was going to be a long day. But as the classes ticked by, he realized something. When he and Quinn were dating, sometimes her "head bitch in charge" attitude really rubbed him the wrong way. She could be bossy, sometimes downright mean.

Finn had never been so glad for her abrasive personality.

No matter where Kurt went, someone was with him. Usually Quinn or himself. Sometimes both. Sometimes it was Santana and Brittany, both looking confused- Brittany because, well, she was Brittany, and Santana because he had the sneaking suspicion that Quinn didn't tell her anything beyond "don't leave Kurt alone."

Mercedes stuck by him too, but that was nothing new. He figured she didn't know anything either. Kurt certainly wouldn't tell her anything. Kurt never told anyone anything.

He never saw the hockey guys come near him. Part of him wondered if they expected him to still be in that closet.

The day passed in an uneasy sort of peace, and he suspected the uneasiness all came from him. Kurt seemed like his usual self, dropping sassy wisecracks and concerning himself with the perfection of his clothes. He was barely even limping. Finn started hoping that maybe this would be it, that it would all blow over.

And then everything hit the fan at three o'clock.

At three o'clock, the bell rang. Finn left his chemistry class and headed towards the choir room; he could see Quinn, Kurt, and Brittany walking together ahead of him. But the closer he got to the rehearsal space, the louder he could hear the voices.

"What happened in here?"

"Did they film an episode of CSI or something?"

"It's totally trashed."

Finn walked into the room and nearly trampled Kurt. He was standing in the doorway, his arms folded protectively across his chest. His eyes had gone immense.

The choir room looked entirely different than it had last night. Last night, all Finn had noticed was the rack of chairs over the closed closet doors. Now he could see the overturned table, the scattered sheet music, the cock-eyed piano, the remains of a purple permanent marker smashed across the floor. And worse, the faint outline of bloody footprints running from the still-open closet doors to the hallway.

Rachel stood in the center of the room, surveying the damage. "Why would someone do this to us?" she said miserably.

The other glee club members poked around the trashed remains of the classroom. Kurt took a step back, slamming into Finn. Finn took him by the shoulders; he wrenched away from him.

Quinn scanned the destroyed room, her eyes softening. "Come on, Kurt," she said, slipping her arm through his. Kurt stumbled after her, gripping onto her arm.

"Where are you going?" Tina called.

Finn looked from her to Quinn and Kurt. "Kurt's…uh, he's sick," he said.

Rachel blinked. "He looked fine earlier," she said. "What's going on, Finn?"

"He just doesn't feel good, okay?" Finn said. "I'll…I'll call you later."

He loped out into the hallway, trying to catch up to them. Rachel hurried behind him. "Can't you help us clean up?" she asked. "I haven't seen you all day. Finn!"

He looked desperately from Kurt to his girlfriend. "Look, I need to help him," he said. He put his hands on her small shoulders and squeezed them gently. She looked up at him, hurt and confused. "I'll explain when I can. Just trust me."

He bent and kissed her softly, then ran to catch up. Now that he was out of sight of the other students, Kurt was limping, leaning heavily on Quinn's arm. Finn held the door open for them.

"We'll take you home," Quinn was saying. "You can go home and rest, and I'll take care of the police report."

Kurt shook his head. "The police report is a stupid idea," he said. "If we ignore it, they'll forget about and move on."

"Yes, to beating you into even worse shape," Quinn said. "Let's just get you- oh."

Finn looked up. A beat up white pickup truck was parked next to Kurt's abandoned Navigator; the driver had just climbed out and slammed the door.

"Dad," Kurt breathed.

Burt Hummel crossed the parking lot in several long strides and grabbed his son by his upper arms. "Are you okay?" he demanded.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Kurt said. His lips were beginning to tremble.

Burt touched his cheeks, his shoulders, his hands. "Kurt, you are not okay," he said. "You filed that police report?"

"Dad-"

"We were just about to, Mr. Hummel," Quinn interrupted.

Kurt looked desperately at his father. "Dad, I don't want to," he said. "I really, really don't want to."

"You have to," Burt said. "Carole told me what happened. That's not normal bullying, Kurt. Heck, even normal bullying is wrong. What they did to you was vicious, and they need to be punished for it."

Finn glanced down at his shoes. He couldn't stand to look at Kurt; his face had gone white and his lips were shaking. Burt pulled his son into his arms tightly, rubbing his back. "You're going to be okay, kiddo," he said. Kurt nodded, his arms folded across his chest.

Burt pulled away, keeping his hand protectively on the back of Kurt's neck. "They took your keys, right?" he said. Kurt nodded again. Burt fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the spare. "Here, Finn. You take his car back to this house. I'm gonna take Kurt to the station."

"Do you want me to come too?" Quinn asked. She rummaged in her backpack and pulled out Finn's camera. "They wanted to see these."

Burt faltered. "You got pictures?"

Quinn nodded. "I thought the police would want to see his injuries," she said.

"Come on, then," Burt said. "I'll give you a ride."

They walked over to the pickup; Burt helped Kurt into the middle seat. Finn stood in the middle of the parking lot and watching them drive away, the keys to the Navigator dangling uselessly in his hand.

When the truck had disappeared from view, Finn turned to Kurt's glossy black SUV, unlocked the door, and climbed into the driver's seat. He had to roll the seat back pretty far before he could get his legs in comfortably. Sometimes he forgot how small Kurt was.

He turned the key into the ignition and the Navigator roared to life. The stereo started blasting some Broadway soundtrack; he lunged to turn it down. He buckled his seatbelt and drove through the parking lot.

For some reason he didn't turn off the CD. He just let it play, listening to it quietly. It was nothing like the musicals that Rachel forced him to listen to. There was something different about this music, something driving and passionate.

When the song ended, he went back and played it again. And again. He wasn't sure why. It was a great song, sure, but somehow all he could think of was Kurt listening to it, singing along while he drove, and with those lyrics, and in the context of what had happened…well, there was something unsettling about it.

He was nearly back to the house, but at the last second, before he turned onto his street, he wheeled around sharply and drove towards the police station. It didn't seem right that he would get to go home, chill out, forget about all this, while they had to go through it.

The Lima police station was surprisingly calm. It was a small town; serious crimes rarely happened. He parked on the street and went inside, shoving the keys back in his pocket.

Quinn was sitting in the front room, her ankles crossed and her head down, hugging a cardboard folder to her chest. Finn cleared his throat. "How's it going?"

She looked up, brushing at her eyes. "Fine, I guess," she said. "They're questioning him now, and his dad's with him." She breathed in deeply. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "I don't know," he said. He sat down next to her. "What's that?"

Wordlessly she handed him the folder. He opened it up and pulled out a stack of glossy photographs. "Wow," he said. "They look…they look pretty bad."

"We made duplicates," she said. "The police are saving copies for the report."

She tapped her fingers anxiously on the folder. Finn reached over and put his hand over hers; she drew away from him. "Do you think they're going to be done soon?" he asked.

She shrugged. He got up and walked down the hallway. There were only a couple of offices back there, and it was easy to find Kurt. He was sitting at a small table, fiddling with a styrofoam cup of coffee, and he was talking with his eyes downcast. His father sat beside him, his big hand on Kurt's shoulder.

Finn wasn't very good at reading lips, but he did know that both Kurt and his father were upset. Burt was angry, his eyes snapping, his mouth drawn down in firm lines. He kept squeezing Kurt's shoulder tightly.

Kurt was beyond angry. He even seemed beyond sad. He just looked…beaten.

Finn turned around and went back down to the hall towards Quinn. "Did you see him?" she asked. "Is he all right?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so," he said.

Quinn picked at the tape on the sides of the folder. "Maybe this will make things worse," she murmured. "Finn, maybe we just signed his death sentence."

He sat down and put his arm around her shoulders. "No, you did the right thing," he said. "Once the report is filed, then the police can handle it. And then the police can get to Figgins and make him do something about this."

"I hope so," Quinn whispered.

A police officer escorted Kurt and his father down the hallway. "Miss Fabray, we'd like to talk to you," he said.

She stood up, smoothing her skirt. "Of course," she said.

"And Mr. Hummel, we have a few questions we'd like to ask you, without your son," the officer added.

Burt looked at Finn, slightly surprised to see him there, and then at his son. Kurt sagged beside him, his head hanging. "Finn, take Kurt home," he said. "Quinn, I'll drive you back to school when we're done."

"Dad, I can wait for you," Kurt said.

"You're tired, kid," Burt said. "Go home and get some rest, okay? And let Finn drive. You're not up to it yet." Kurt reluctantly walked towards the front doors, his arms wrapped around himself. Finn followed him to the car.

The stereo turned on as soon as he turned the key in the ignition. Kurt buckled himself in and reached for the volume knob. "No, you can leave it on," Finn offered. He navigated the car down the narrow street. "What's it from?"

"Songs for a New World," Kurt said dully. He turned away, looking out the window.

"It's nice," Finn said.

Kurt tapped his fingers in rhythm against the dashboard. Finn kept his eyes on the road, and Kurt began to hum along.

"Let me out of here, give me back all my dreams," he sang softly. "Let me out of here, let please see the sun. Let me out of here…at least tell me what I did wrong."

Kurt's voice trailed away. He reached over and slammed his hand against the volume control, sending the car into silence. His gloves were gone, and his palms were still red and scraped. Finn just kept driving, not daring to say anything.

When they pulled into the driveway, Kurt bolted. He jumped out of the car, ran for the house, and jammed his key in the lock. Finn dropped his head against the steering wheel and grunted. He was really getting tired of this. All he wanted to do was help, and Kurt's stupid pride kept getting in the way.

He locked the car and went into the house, dropping his backpack in the living room. The basement door hung open, and it made it that much easier to hear Kurt's startled shriek and the heavy thud.

Finn ran down the stairs. Kurt was crumpled on the landing, trying to push himself back up. "You okay?" he asked. He grabbed Kurt by the elbows and tugged him to his feet.

"Stop asking me that," Kurt snapped, pulling away. He grabbed onto the railing and made his way slowly down the rest of the stairs. The scrapes on his palms had split and blood smeared across the railing.

"I'm just trying to help," Finn said.

"I don't need it," Kurt said sharply. He limped across the room and collapsed on his bed.

Finn clenched his fists at his side. "Yeah?" he said. "You needed my help last night when you were stuck in that closet."

"I would have been fine," Kurt growled. He yanked his shirt over his head, pulling his undershirt up with it and roughing up his hair.

"Yeah, sure, fine," Finn snorted. "Fine, bleeding in a closet?" He leaned over Kurt's bed, towering over him. "Freaking out, screaming for your dead mom? You should be thanking me."

Kurt tossed his shirt savagely to the floor. "I don't need you," he said in a low, terrible voice.

"If it hadn't been for me, you would still be there," Finn argued. "Where would you be without me, huh?"

"Where_ were _you_, _Finn_?_"

He took a step back. Kurt leaped up from his bed, his hair flopping in his wild eyes, his khakis hanging loosely around his hips. "Where were you, Finn?" he demanded. "Where were you when they beat me up, when they tossed me in there?'

Finn took a step back. "Kurt, I was in football practice, I didn't know-"

"You never know," Kurt screamed. "Never! You look the other way, you pretend not to notice. They're your friends, Finn. And you let them to do this!"

Finn held out his hands, attempting a gesture of peace. "Kurt, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm really sorry. I never meant-"

Kurt kicked at his bed, sending the mattress flying to the floor. "You don't even like me," he said. His voice had dropped again, to that low, savage, dangerous tone. Finn was almost more afraid of that than the screaming. "You've never liked me."

"That's not true," Finn said.

Kurt threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, of course it's true," he said bitterly. "I freak you out. Think you're going to catch a bad case of the gay by hanging out with me?"

Finn reached out his hand to touch Kurt's shoulder. "I don't think that," he said gently. "Kurt, you're-"

Kurt jerked away from so violently that Finn thought he might have given himself whiplash. "Don't touch me," he seethed. "I don't want you anywhere near me."

"Kurt, I-"

Kurt moved his mattress back onto his bed frame, crawled into bed, and pulled the blankets over his head. It was childish, and Finn knew it, but he knew he couldn't fight back. Not now. Not like this.

Finn tucked the blankets around Kurt, even though he could feel him tense. He wished he could do more, but he could see him trembling under the covers, and as he walked away, he knew that he could hear shuddering, heavy gasps, muffled by his pillow.

Kurt was sobbing.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

So I don't know why this ended in an argument. I was just writing away, and all of a sudden bam! They were fighting.

Now I have to figure out how to resolve this. Crap.

In any case, though, thank you so much for all of your reviews and suggestions, especially to **Sarah Bartholomew**, who sent me an entire email and pointed out all sorts of fascinating things that I hadn't even noticed myself! I feel very honored by all the help and kind words.

**Kawaii-chan **and **TheMozzyOne **really wanted to see the police report scene...I tried writing it with Finn present, and it just didn't quite gel, so it ended up like this. I hope it's still good!

And a lot of people wanted to see how Burt and Carole reacted. Originally, Burt came home in the middle of the night and found them asleep, but it wasn't quite working, so I rewrote it with Carole just getting home from work.

**nonexistantpuppy **also had a lot to do with the themes in this chapter, particularly with the idea of Quinn kissing Kurt and Finn finally realizing that Kurt doesn't want him near him. Both of those threads will pop up again, so thank you!

I took down notes of what people suggested, so you can expect to see a lot of your ideas coming up. And keep them coming!

Also, the song Finn listens to in Kurt's car is "King of the World" from Songs for a New World. It's by one of my favorite Broadway composers, Jason Robert Brown. It's a four person musical, and each song is a separate story. "King of the World" is absolutely heartbreaking and beautiful. Give it a listen if you get a chance!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

He paced up and down the living room, unable to keep still. The doorbell rang, and he jumped. It rang again, and he finally came to his senses and answered it.

"Rachel?" he said, surprised.

She stood on his doorstep, her hands in her coat pockets. "Can I come in?" she asked quietly.

"Uh…sure," he said, holding the door open. "Come in."

She stepped into the living room, her head down. "We cleaned up the choir room," she said quietly.

"Oh," he said. "Yeah. Sorry I couldn't help, Kurt is-"

She pulled her hand out of her pocket and held out it out, unfolding her fingers. Finn stared at the scrap of fabric she held. He recognized the pattern, and his heart sank to his shoes.

"I found it when I was cleaning out the closet," she said. "I hid it before anyone else could see, but isn't it from the shirt Kurt was wearing yesterday?"

"Yeah," he breathed. "It is."

"There were all these…drops. On the floor, on the shelves…" Her voice trailed off. "It looked like blood."

He sank to the couch. "It is blood," he confessed. "It was the hockey team. They beat him up and shoved him in there."

"How did he get out?" Rachel asked.

"I found him," Finn whispered. "He was…he freaked out. If it hadn't been for Quinn-"

"What about Quinn?" Rachel interrupted.

He glanced over at his frowning girlfriend. "She saw me trying to talk Kurt down," he said. "If it hadn't been for her, I don't think I'd ever have gotten him out." He ran his hands through his hair. "His dad's filing a police report."

"Are you serious?" Rachel said. "A police report? Finn, that's a serious accusation."

"It's not an accusation," Finn said sharply. "They beat him up, took all of his stuff, and locked him in a closet for four hours. He's really upset."

Rachel dropped her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to belittle him," she said. "It's just that…I mean, this is a big step up from knocking him into lockers and dumping slushies down his shirt. Would they really escalate to this?"

"Obviously," Finn said. "I mean, Kurt didn't hide his own stuff, beat himself, and lock himself in a closet just for fun."

"Was he hurt badly?" Rachel asked.

He nodded.

Rachel put her hand on his arm. "I'm going to tell my dads," she announced.

"What? Why?" he said.

"My dads have dealt with this sort of thing before," she said. "Well, not exactly the same thing, but they've had to deal with hate crimes."

"Hate crimes?" Finn repeated.

"They did this to Kurt because he's gay," she explained gently.

Finn shook his head. "We could barely get him to file the report," he said. "Kurt'll never go for it."

"Maybe I can talk to him," she suggested. She stood up, as if she was going to find him right that second.

"I wouldn't try that right now," he said, catching her by the wrist. "I think he wants to be alone right now."

"Why?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "We kind of had a fight," he said.

Rachel blinked. "About what?"

He debated telling her the truth, but he knew he wasn't much of a liar. "He thinks I hate him," he admitted.

"Well, you are kind of standoffish towards him," Rachel said.

He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. "I don't hate Kurt."

"Yes, but you don't let him come near you," she pointed out. "It's like you're afraid that his sexuality will rub off on you."

Finn's scowl deepened. He could hear Kurt's angry words in his mind- _think you're going to catch a bad case of the gay?_

"I don't hate Kurt," he repeated. "It just makes me kind of…uncomfortable, you know? He had a huge crush on me last year. It was awkward."

"That's no reason to treat him like a pariah," Rachel retorted.

"I don't treat him like a…a whatever," Finn snapped. "I just don't want him trying to put the moves on me, you know."

Rachel took a deep breath, sat down beside him, and put her hand on his knee. "Finn, I knew he was in love with you," she said quietly. "And I know you weren't all that excited about moving in with him last year, and maybe his intentions weren't all that honest. But he went from adoring you to not being able to stay in the same room as you. What happened?"

"You noticed that?" he said.

"Finn, _Santana _asked me what was going on," Rachel said. "Did you two have a fight or something?" He mumbled his answer.

"What?"

"I called him a fag, okay?"

Rachel drew back. "You did what?" she said.

"I didn't mean it," he said quickly. "I was just kind of upset. And I didn't really call him a fag, I just called his stuff faggy-"

Rachel slapped him.

He drew back. "Are you crazy?" he said. "What was that for?"

She stood up, her dark eyes snapping. "I have had to hear strangers yell that at my dads for as long as I can remember," she said. "And it hurts. Have you ever had anyone call your mom names? What if somebody started yelling 'slut' at your mother?"

"Hey," he warned, half rising from the couch.

She held up a warning hand. "I've listened to people call my fathers insults all my life," she said. "I never thought my boyfriend would be like them. Especially not to someone who's practically your brother."

"Rachel, I'm not," he protested. "It was an accident. It was just once."

She picked up her backpack and her car keys. "Once is enough," she said quietly. She shouldered her backpack. "I love you, Finn. I really do. But I don't really want to talk to you right now. I have to process this first."

She headed towards the door. "Rachel…" he said.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, and she left.

Finn sank back to the couch, his mind racing. He could hear her car start in his driveway, and for a brief second he entertained the thought of going after her. But she drove away, and he didn't move.

He sat on the couch in the late-afternoon half light for a while, too dazed to think clearly. His thoughts were running wild. He didn't know if he should sulk about Rachel, or try to form an apology towards Kurt…or just be mad at himself.

He didn't think now would be a good time to talk to Rachel. And he really didn't want to wrestle with his inner thoughts right that second. So he got up slowly and made his way to the basement.

The steps creaked under his heavy footsteps despite his best efforts to stay quiet. He kicked off his shoes in the landing and crept the rest of the way in his socked feet. Carefully he approached Kurt's part of the room, his mind struggling to put together a decent-sounding introduction to an apology.

Kurt was no longer hidden under the comforter. He was curled up on his stomach, his blankets sliding halfway to the floor. His arms were tucked up against his chest, but his legs were splayed out. Finn leaned a little closer. Kurt's mouth gaped open slightly and his breathing was slow, deep, and even.

Finn picked the blankets up and draped them over Kurt. He didn't wake up. Finn patted him lightly on the back and headed back upstairs. They could talk things over later, after all. There'd be time for that.

Probably.

He reached the living room just in time to see the headlights turning into the driveway. For a second he thought it might be Rachel, but he realized it was a white pickup truck instead.

Burt slammed the front door of the house as he walked in. "Got the report filed," he said without preamble. "They're gonna check out that hockey team tonight."

"Good," Finn said, sitting down on the arm of the couch.

Burt stomped into the kitchen, yanked the fridge open, pulled out a beer, and slammed it shut. "That Quinn girl, she's smart," he said. "You know, if it wasn't for her taking those pictures, the police wouldn't have much to go on."

"Yeah, she's smart," Finn echoed.

Burt popped the top on his beer, sank into his recliner, and took a long swig. "I called your mom on my way back," he said. "She's going to pick up dinner at that Mexican place Kurt likes. Said she'd be here pretty soon."

"That's good," Finn said.

Burt sighed heavily. "How's Kurt doing?" he asked.

"He's, uh, fine," he said. "Sleeping."

Burt nodded. "He never sleeps enough," he said, mostly to himself. He set his beer down on the end table and got up. "I'm going to go look in on him."

"I just checked on him a second ago," Finn said. "He's fine. Just sleeping."

"Thanks," Burt said. "But I think I'm going to go down there, just the same."

Finn stared down at the floor while Burt walked down to the basement. He didn't know what he should be doing. He wondered if Kurt would wake up when his dad went down there. He wondered if Kurt would tell him about the fight.

No. No, he wouldn't. Kurt wasn't like that.

The back door opened and he turned around. "Hi, honey," his mom said. "Can you give me a hand?"

He got up and helped her with her brown paper bags. "That's a lot of food," he commented.

Carole smiled. "I don't know if you've realized this, but you eat a lot," she said. She unpacked the aluminum and cardboard takeout containers. "How's Kurt?"

"He's sleeping," he said. "Burt's down there with him."

"I'm not surprised," Carole said. She set out plates and glasses on the table. "He stopped by work to see me as soon as he got in and started asking me all sorts of questions. Where's Kurt? Is he okay? Who do I have to beat up?" She put plates at each seat. "Kurt's been the only thing keeping him sane since Mollie died. I don't know what Burt would do if he ever lost him."

"Who's Mollie?" Finn asked, absentmindedly dumping tortilla chips into a serving bowl.

Carole sort of smiled. "Kurt's mother," she said.

"Oh," Finn said. "He…uh, never told me her name."

She reached across him. "Hand me the silverware, please," she said. He handed it over wordlessly and she set the utensils on the table. "They don't like talking about her. She was very young when she passed away, and it was very unexpected."

Finn wondered what it would be like if he had grown up with his dad instead of his mom. Sure, he always wanted to have a dad. But from what he could tell, dads were good at taking you to sports games and fixing stuff and teaching you to ride a bicycle. Moms were good at taking care of you when you were sick and baking your birthday cakes and telling you that it was okay if you cried, and it didn't mean you weren't a man.

Kurt probably needed a mother.

"Finn? Honey?"

He blinked. "What?"

"You zoned out for a minute," his mom said.

"Yeah, just thinking," he said.

"Don't think too hard, you might break something," she joked.

The basement door opened and Burt walked into the living room. "Hey, Carole," he said, his face lighting up. "I didn't know you were here."

"I just got in a little bit ago," she said, offering her cheek for a kiss. "I've got dinner all set up. How's Kurt?"

Burt glanced over his shoulder. "He's coming, he's just tired," he said. "I made him decide between dinner and sleeping, and he chose dinner."

Kurt shuffled into the kitchen. He still wore his loose, sleep-wrinkled khakis, but he'd changed into a sky blue tee shirt. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was ruffled. "Hi, Carole," he said sleepily. "Sorry, I look awful."

"It's fine," she said. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Oh, I'm fine," he said.

She squeezed his arm lightly. "Sit down, honey," she said. "Are you hungry?"

He slipped into his usual seat at the dinner table. "I think so," he said.

"Just eat something," Burt said. He put his hands on his son's shoulders, then paused and kissed the top of his head. Kurt smiled.

Finn sat down next to him. Kurt didn't look up. Finn tapped his fingers anxiously on the table. It was awkward.

Dinner was quiet. Carole kept a calm, steady stream of conversation, asking them non-invasive questions about how the Cleveland trip went, how glee club was going, what happened in football practice. It was almost nice. Things felt normal.

Kurt managed to eat almost everything on his plate, but he shook his head at seconds and turned down dessert. "I think I'm going to go to bed," he said quietly. "Thanks for dinner, Carole."

"It's no problem, sweetheart," she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Good night."

"'Night," he said, retreating to the basement.

Burt frowned. "He's pretty shaken up," he said. "I haven't seen him that dazed since I made him play Little League and he got clocked by an outfield hit."

Finn grinned. "Kurt was in Little League?" he said.

"For about five minutes when he was six." Burt said, sort of smiling at the memory. "He wasn't that big a fan of it. He had a pretty good swing, too. But he hated it, so Mollie…"

His voice trailed off and he glanced up at Finn. "He ever talk about his mom with you?" he asked.

"Not really," Finn stammered. "He told me once that there's an old dresser that smells like her perfume."

Burt smiled, tapping his finger idly against his water glass. "He broke a bottle of her perfume over it when he was three," he said. "After Mollie died, he used to fall asleep in front of it. I'd come in and there he'd be, all the drawers open and him sprawled out on the floor."

His smile faded slightly. "Sorry, Carole," he said. "I don't mean to talk about her so much."

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "It's all right," she said. "I understand."

Finn got up from the table. "I think I'm going to go work on my homework," he said, changing the subject abruptly. "Dinner was good. Thanks."

"Put your dishes in the sink, sweetheart," his mom said.

He obeyed and headed downstairs. It was quiet downstairs; Kurt was already asleep- or at least pretending to sleep. Finn pulled his rumpled math homework out of his backpack and settled down on the couch.

For some reason he couldn't really get started. He stared at the math problems, balancing his pencil on his fingertip and his calculator on his knee, but he couldn't focus. Somehow he managed to get through the first page, bouncing back and forth between the homework and changing songs on his iPod and checking his Facebook on Kurt's computer.

It was almost ten o'clock when he finally reached the second page. He glanced at the new set of problems, picked up his pencil to start, and then thought better of it. Instead, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Rachel. He hit send, set it down on the coffee table, and waited.

After what felt like an eternity, it vibrated. He snatched it up and checked her reply.

_No, I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed._

He frowned. That might actually be worse.

It vibrated again, before he had a chance to answer her.

_Btw, the glee club knows._

He didn't quite know what she meant.

_Do u mean the fag thing?_

Her reply was almost instantaneous.

_Don't say that word. I meant they know about Kurt getting stuck in the closet._

_Howd thye find out?_

_Mercedes wanted to know where K was and I didn't want to lie._

He rolled his eyes. If he and Rachel ever got married and had kids, they would be the worst liars in the history of lying.

_What r they goin 2 do?_

_They're planning something. I don't know what._

He knew the plans depended on who was making them. Mercedes would probably plan some kind of "girl's day" to make Kurt feel better- an event that Finn was sure he didn't want to participate in. Puck would draw up a battle plan to stomp the hockey team, but that was more because Puck liked punching things. If it had been Rachel, there would be some sort of inspirational song that they could perform.

Finn glanced over at Kurt. He wasn't sure if he would actually like any of those options. Honestly, he wasn't sure if anything could make Kurt feel better. It might actually be impossible.

He frowned. Kurt was moving around restlessly in his sleep. He thought about going over there and checking on him, but his phone vibrated in his hand.

_I told my dads. They've offered to talk to K if he wants._

_I dont think hell want 2_

_At least tell him, k?_

"…stop it…"

Finn glanced up from his phone. It sounded like Kurt was talking in his sleep. That had only happened once before, when Kurt had attempted an all-nighter for an algebra test, OD'd on Red Bull and cookie dough, spent the entire next day in a sugar-high manic craze, and then crashed, mumbling about too much chocolate and quadratic equations.

That had been funny. In fact, he still had the videos on his phone. But this didn't sound funny.

He got up from the couch, leaving his phone behind, and crept towards Kurt's bed.

"Stop it," Kurt mumbled, shifting restlessly. "Lea'me alone."

Finn tentatively put his hand on Kurt's slender shoulder and shook him gently. "Wake up," he said. "Dude, you're having a nightmare."

He had to go from gentle tapping to full-out shaking before Kurt woke up. "What're you doing?" he said.

Finn sat down on the edge of his bed. "I think you were having a nightmare," he said. "You were talking in your sleep."

Kurt rubbed his eyes and scooted into a sitting position. "Sorry," he said. His voice sounded at least an octave lower. "I didn't mean to."

"Don't worry about it," Finn said. His hand was still on Kurt's shoulder, and he hadn't shaken it off yet. "You okay? You want me to get you anything?"

He sighed. "I don't need you to babysit me, Finn," he said wearily. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine."

"Yeah," Finn said. "Sorry."

He stood up, scratching the back of his neck. "Listen, Kurt, I know I should have said this a long time ago, but…I'm sorry."

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest. "About what?" he asked skeptically.

Finn took a deep breath and forced himself to look Kurt in the eyes. "I'm sorry I called you a fag," he said. "It was stupid and out of line and…you didn't deserve it."

He wished fervently that he could read facial expressions. Kurt just regarded him coolly, his eyes large but unreadable. "Thank you, Finn Hudson," he said quietly. "I appreciate it."

Finn stood beside his bed, shifting his weight awkwardly. "Are we…are we okay?" he asked.

Kurt shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "One apology does not a friendship create." He cleared his throat. "Do you mind handing me my book? I think I might…avoid sleeping for a little bit."

Finn picked it up from Kurt's desk and handed it to him. Kurt put on his reading glasses and opened up to where he left off. He scanned a page and glanced at Finn over his lenses. "Are you going to hover?" he asked.

"Uh…no," he said. "Sorry."

He retreated to the couch and his fortress of homework. His phone was still vibrating, but he didn't feel like answering it. Instead he just sank into the plush seat and stared blankly at the wall.

_Didn't I just do the right thing? _he thought. _Shouldn't I feel better now?_

_

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**

This is a sort of boring chapter, but it's a reaction, not an action section. So...it's slower, but necessary.

I really don't know where I'm going with this...I know how it's going to end, but that's about it. So feel free to offer suggestions of what you want to see happening!

Also, I totally think Kurt wears reading glasses. Chris Colfer has tweeted on occasion about how can never find his reading glasses, so I think that just sort of ended up in here.

(And now I feel like a Twitter stalker. Chris Colfer, if you ever stumble across this, I'm very sorry and I promise I'm not a creeper! I just need a new hobby that doesn't involve writing about someone else's characters. Maybe I'll take up...underwater basketweaving. I dunno.)

Also also, I think I might have to write a oneshot about Kurt OD'ing on cookie dough and Red Bull. I've already written a oneshot about Kurt being a stressbaker, so I might have to write that. Plus, I need to write something silly after all this angst. Seriously, between this and "Every Plan," I've got angst coming out of my ears.

Sigh.

In any case, let me know what you think of this! And I welcome any ideas you have...


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Special thanks to **nonexistent puppy **and **Sahraylia **for helping me with plot ideas!

* * *

Finn drummed his fingers anxiously on his knees while Kurt drove. Kurt hadn't spoken to him all morning, other than a perfunctory "good morning" and the usual "hurry up, Finn, you're going to make me late."

He was pretty sure an apology was going to make things better. Apparently not.

Kurt turned the car into the school parking lot. He was still wearing long sleeves, but he'd gone back to his skinny jeans. His palms were still covered by the fingerless gloves. Finn wondered what his injuries looked like now.

"Finn. We're at school. Get out of my car."

He blinked. "Oh. Sorry," he said, climbing out and slamming the passenger door behind him.

They had only made it a couple yards towards the school when Puck grabbed them by the arms- Finn on his left, Kurt on his right- and dragged them behind the dumpster. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Ow, Puck," Finn complained, pulling his arm out of his best friend's grasp.

Puck scowled, which would have been frightening if it hadn't been for his unfortunate choice of a tee shirt. "The hockey team is out for your blood, Hummel," he said.

Kurt blinked. "Noah, are you wearing purple?" he asked.

Puck actually shook him. "Cops showed up at hockey practice last night. They asked all kinds of questions about you. Half the team got disqualified from playing the next game and Karofsky and Azimio got suspended for a week. And they got kicked off the team!"

"Are you serious?" Finn said.

"Dead serious," Puck said. "They're going to kill you, Hummel."

Finn glanced over at Kurt. He had gone completely white and his eyes were huge. "I can't give them the satisfaction," he said.

Puck shook him again, Kurt's arm still caught in his grip. "Go home," he said. "They're out for blood."

Kurt weaseled out of his grasp and started walking towards the school. "If I go home, they win," he said sharply. "I go to school anyways, all I have to do is stay in the vicinity of a teacher all day and they can't get me. Ergo, _I _win."

Puck and Finn jogged to catch up with him. "Hudson, call his dad," Puck ordered.

"You're not calling him."

Finn caught up. "At least let us stay with you," he said. He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Kurt, look, I know you're proud, but you can't do this alone."

"I don't like people fighting my battles for me," he said through his teeth. But he didn't object when Puck flanked him on his other side, effectively blocking him from any outside attacks.

They got into the school without any issues and made their way to the rehearsal room. It was quiet and peaceful and all the signs of struggle had been cleaned away. Puck closed the door and flicked on the lights as Kurt sank into a seat on the front riser.

"So, have your funeral plans in place?" Puck snarked.

"I'm not in the mood, Puckerman," Kurt said quietly.

Finn sat down beside him. Kurt was silent, lost in his own private world. It was eerily similar to a few months ago, when Finn had just found out through the McKinley gossip factory that "the fag's dad is dying." Back then he had attempted to comfort Kurt with a pat on the shoulder and was promptly rejected with a small shake of the head and a wag of the finger.

He tentatively reached over and put his hand on Kurt's knee. It was a relief when Kurt didn't shake him off. Finn squeezed his knee lightly.

The door banged open and Kurt jumped involuntarily, pulling away from Finn's hand. Puck half-rose from his seat on the piano bench, but sat back down when Quinn came in.

"What's going on?" she said. "I just walked by the hockey team, and they're pissed. In fact, they're past pissed, they're murderous."

She paused, the door swinging shut behind her. In one glance she took in Kurt's surprisingly normal clothes, his pale face, and his dazed expression. She crossed the room and sat down beside him. "Are you all right?" she asked gently.

"I'm just trying to get my thoughts in order," he whispered.

She took his hands in hers. "You should go home," she said. "Put your pride aside and keep yourself safe."

"I'll be fine," he said.

She pulled his gloves away and set his hands on her knees. "I don't want you to get hurt," she said.

"I can handle it," he said, still not meeting her eyes.

Quinn didn't argue, but she turned his hands palms up, exposing the dark red lines, and lifted them to her lips. He didn't pull away. It was almost as if he couldn't.

The choir room door banged open again, this time flooding the room with various members of the glee club. Kurt pried his hands away from Quinn and slipped his gloves back in. They were all chatting and laughing, but the sounds died away as they realized Kurt was there.

He licked his dry lips. "Good morning," he offered.

"Are you okay?" Mercedes blurted out. "Honey, if something happened, why didn't you tell us?"

He smiled. "It's not as bad as it sounds," he said, shrugging.

"Don't listen to him," Puck said from across the room, crossing his arms as he lounged on the piano bench. "The police report sucked pretty bad."

"How do you know?" Quinn asked.

Tina stepped out from the crowd with a crumpled piece of photocopied paper. "The whole school knows," she said.

Quinn stood up and snatched it from her hands. "How'd they get this?" she demanded.

"One of the hockey players has a dad on the force," Artie explained. "Trent Andrews. His dad showed him the whole report."

"Isn't that illegal?" Mike said.

Kurt was still curiously calm. "I told you I shouldn't have filed it," he said serenely. "It was only going to make things worse."

"Don't say that," Quinn snapped. "We needed to go to the authorities."

"I don't think this is really a good time to argue," Rachel interrupted gently. The others turned to stare at her. "Look, the hockey team is lost without Karofsky and Azimio. They're just a ball of disorganized rage. There's no way they'll be able to focus their anger into any kind of targeted attack."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Fantastic," he said. "Rachel Berry is discerning battle strategies."

"Let's just get through this week," she continued, as if she hadn't heard him…or maybe she had just ignored him. "We can worry about Karofsky and Azimio when they're back."

"We?" Kurt said, arching an eyebrow. "What are you saying, 'we'?"

Rachel blinked. "You can't really expect you're going to stick this out by yourself, do you?" she said.

He shrugged. "I've done all right on my own so far," he said coolly.

Rachel sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Look, this isn't really…I don't want to fight," she said. "Just…we all really care about you, okay?"

"Yeah," Puck said. "Don't you think there's a reason we're all dressed like this?"

Finn glanced across the room. All of them, every single one of them was wearing something purple. Rachel had a lavender dress, Tina had mauve streaks in her hair, Artie wore a purple argyle sweater vest. Even the Cheerios were defying Coach Sue Sylvester's orders and added something to their strict uniform- Quinn's cardigan, Santana's hair ribbon, Brittany's leggings.

Kurt just stared at them.

"I knew you wouldn't want us to do something big," Mercedes said quietly. "I talked them out of it."

"I had even suggested a rousing performance of an inspirational song, but I was outvoted before I could narrow down my list," Rachel added.

"We just wanted you to see that we cared about you, without being too in-your-face about it," Mercedes finished.

Kurt was still unable to speak. "Why would you do this?" he said.

Brittany slipped out of the rest of the group and sidled up to him. He raised an eyebrow at her as she knelt in front of him and put her hands on her knees. She lifted her face towards his and kissed him lightly, chastely, on the lips. "We love you," she said simply.

For a second Finn thought Kurt might be stuck frozen like that for the rest of his life. Brittany smiled up at him. Kurt finally blinked and his lips parted, as if he was trying to speak and he couldn't quite do it. He gazed around him, at the friends that he continually held at arms' length.

"Thanks," he finally said, slightly dazed.

The bell rang, and the glee members started dispersing to their first period classes, some of them pausing to pat Kurt on the shoulder or say something reassuring. He accepted it blindly, barely acknowledging them past a nod or a vague smile.

"Come on, Hummel," Puck said, rising from the piano bench.

"Come where?" he asked.

"Ethics. C'mon, you'll be late."

Kurt stood up and followed him obediently, still too stunned to object. Finn watched him go.

"Finn, don't you have to go to history?" Quinn asked.

"Hm?" he said. "Oh, yeah."

He stood up, his eyes still trained on the door. "He's going to be okay," Quinn murmured, half to herself.

He shouldered his backpack and turned towards her. "I hope so," he said.

The day passed without incident, thankfully. Kurt was never left alone. Mike, Sam, Quinn, Santana…they all took turns walking with him, making sure to take the most crowded paths, or at least the ones known to be heavily populated by teachers. Finn tried to keep up when he could. But Puck was there the entire time, looming over him like a grim-faced shadow. And even though Kurt and Puck were never really friends, or even conversational acquaintances, it was reassuring to see the mohawked bully keeping his eye on Kurt. Maybe it was because he actually cared, maybe it was because he felt obligated to help out his best friend's stepbrother, but no matter the reason, at least Kurt was protected.

The bell rang for three o'clock; Finn met Puck, Quinn, and Brittany at the back doors of the school. Kurt was with them, his backpack slung across the shoulder. It had to have been from middle school; it was blue and slightly worn and had his monogram embroidered across the top.

"Why does your backpack say 'keh'?" Brittany asked.

"Those are my initials," Kurt explained patiently.

Puck scowled. "The 'e' doesn't really stand for Elizabeth, does it?" he asked warily. Kurt just smiled.

"Hey, guys," Finn said as he caught up. "We'd better hurry. Coach Beiste will kill us if we're late."

"I've never been so scared of a woman in my life," Puck mumbled under his breath as they walked towards Kurt's car.

Quinn laughed. "You were never scared of me?" she said.

"You don't count," Puck said. "You're not a woman, you're a…little woman. Not the same." Quinn rolled her eyes.

Kurt unlocked his car. "I never thought I would miss my remote," he sighed.

"We're still looking for your stuff," Finn said.

Kurt shrugged. "You probably won't find it," he said. "My bag and all its contents are probably long gone by now."

He climbed into the driver's seat. Brittany waved. "Bye, Kurt," she said.

"Bye, Britt," he said. He closed the door, buckled his seatbelt, and drove away.

Quinn sighed. "Come on, Brittany," she said. "Let's go."

Brittany jogged beside her to the gym. Puck and Finn followed them. "So that's it?" Puck said. "We're just going to have to stalk Hummel for the rest of his life?"

Finn shrugged. "I hope not," he said. "I guess we just have to wait for things to calm down."

Puck followed him silently into the locker room; most of the football guys were already changed out and heading to the field. "Was he really that effed up?" he asked, dropping his voice lower. "I mean, you told Rachel and she told Mercedes and she mass-texted us, but I figured they were just exaggerating."

Finn shoved his bag in his locker and started changing into his practice clothes. "I don't know what you heard, but yeah," he said. "They really worked him over."

Puck stripped off his shirt. "Like how?"

"Like dragging him through the parking lot on his knees, knocking him out, drawing all over his face," Finn said. He slammed his locker door savagely.

"They drew on his face?" Puck said skeptically.

"Purple sharpie," Finn said. He sat down on the bench and pulled on his cleats. "They wrote 'faggot' on his forehead. Kurt freaked. He didn't want his dad to see it."

"That sucks," Puck said quietly. He punched Finn lightly on the shoulder. "Hurry up, Hudson. You're making me late."

They reached the field just before Coach Beiste blew the late whistle. Finn threw himself into practice, blocking out all of his thoughts. It was a relief to turn off his stream-of-consciousness and just run around and hit stuff for three hours.

He was sweaty, dirty, and exhausted by the time practice was over, and it felt awesome. Sam clapped him on the shoulders as they headed to the showers. "Awesome run today, dude," he said.

"Thanks," Finn said, grinning. "You're not too bad yourself."

Sam pulled him aside from the flow of traffic as the football team trooped back into the locker room. "I've been hearing some stuff about Kurt," he said. "Did he really put the moves on Karofsky?" Finn blinked. "What are you talking about?" he said.

"Some of the hockey guys were in here before practice," Sam explained. "They kept talking about how Kurt was…he was trying to get Karofsky to make out with him."

Finn was struck speechless. "You're not serious," he said.

"Yeah, they kept talking about it and-"

"No, I mean, you don't seriously believe that, do you?" Finn said. "Geez, Sam, you're an idiot."

He brushed past the blond. "What?" Sam said, following him. "They kept saying-"

Finn whirled around. "Okay, first of all, I know you're new to McKinley, but nobody trusts the hockey team," he said. "Hockey is for the people who aren't good enough to make people and not dorky enough for wrestling. No one listens to them. Second of all, Kurt is way too small to force himself onto Karofsky. That's like asking a miniature pony to attack one of those Budweiser horses."

Sam frowned. "Did you just compare Kurt to a pony?" he said.

"And third of all, Karofsky is totally not Kurt's type," Finn rattled on. "Kurt likes guys who are tall, and kind of lanky, and dark haired."

"And you know that how?"

"Never mind," Finn blurted out, the sudden blush on his cheeks rushing up o his ears. "Just…I know Kurt can be kind of manipulative sometimes, but he wouldn't try to _seduce _somebody. He gets too flustered to actually flirt. He's more…more…" He wracked his brain valiantly for the right term. "Passive aggressive! He's passive-aggressive."

"Look, I'm sorry," Sam apologized. "I'm sorry I believed the hockey team. I don't really know Kurt all that well, and I guess I was wrong about him."

"Yeah, you were," Finn said. He pulled his shower stuff out of his locker. "A lot of us have been wrong about him."

He sulked through his shower, he sulked while he got his stuff together, and he sulked while Puck drove him to his house. "Dude, what's up with you?" Puck asked. "You had an awesome practice. Usually you won't shut up about how cool you are."

"Yeah, well," Finn said, crossing his arms and staring out the window. "I don't feel like it."

Puck maneuvered his car into the Hummel-Hudson driveway and put it in park. "I know you're freaked out about Kurt, but this isn't going to last forever," he said. "In a couple of weeks, they'll have moved on to somebody else as their favorite target."

Finn glanced at him "Are you sure about that?" he asked.

Puck shrugged. "I'm not sure about anything," he said. "All I know is that there are plenty of dorks for the school jerks to pick on, and Kurt's tougher than he looks. I mean, he might dress all fancy and sing like a girl, but he's tough."

"I hope you're right," Finn said. He picked up his backpack and got out of the car. "Thanks for the ride." Puck stopped him from closing the car door. "You're doing good by him," he said quietly.

"Thanks," Finn stammered. He hadn't seen Puck that serious before. Puck let go, letting the car door slam, and drove off down the street, his junky car sputtering exhaust fumes into the dark.

Finn walked into the house. "Hi, honey," his mom said. "How was football practice?"

"Good, really good," he said, dumping his bag by the front door. "Whatcha watching?"

"Ice Truckers," Burt said, his eyes glued to the screen. "You ever seen this before? Those guys are crazy."

"No, I haven't seen it," Finn said. "Where's Kurt?"

Burt looked away from the television. "Downstairs, working on homework," he said. "He's looking a lot better. School go okay for him?"

"Yeah, nothing really happened," Finn said.

Burt smiled, relieved. "Good," he said fervently. "They'd better cut him some slack."

Carole turned around on the couch. "Oh, your dinner's on the stove," she said. "I made pork chops."

"Thanks," Finn said. "I'm going to eat downstairs, I think. You guys have fun with the ice truckers."

He went into the kitchen, got his dinner, and popped it in the microwave. He grabbed silverware and a can of Mountain Dew while he waited for it to ding, then grabbed the hot plate, balancing them carefully, and headed downstairs.

Kurt was curled up on the couch watching television; his homework was spread out over the coffee table. He glanced up at Finn, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. "Puck give you a ride home?" he asked.

"Yup," Finn said, plunking down beside him. Kurt scooted his science textbook out of the way.

They sat in silence as Finn tore into his dinner. Kurt balanced his notebook on his knees, glancing from his work to his book to the TV. Occasionally he would smile at something funny on his show.

"What is this?" Finn asked, pointing at the screen with his fork.

Kurt glanced up and readjusted his glasses. "Arrested Development," he said. "It only lasted three seasons, but it's great. Fox never knows what to do with good shows."

Finn swallowed a too-large bite of mashed potatoes. "What's it about?" he asked.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "You really want to know?" he asked.

Finn shrugged. "Sure," he said.

Kurt sighed and put his notebook aside. "It's too hard to really explain," he said. "You might as well watch the pilot. It'll explain everything."

Finn realized he was actually kind of excited. Kurt was actually talking to him about something he liked. And it wasn't his usual posturing about his favorite clothes or obscure show tunes. It was…well, there was only one way to describe it.

They were halfway through the episode when Finn couldn't keep it in any longer. "You know, this is the sort of things that brothers do together," he pointed out.

"Hm?" Kurt said absently, labeling the mitochondria of a cell in his worksheet.

"Brothers do this," he repeated. "You know…sit around and watch TV together."

Kurt glanced up. "You really think we're brothers?" he said.

"Well, yeah," Finn said. "I mean, your dad is probably going to end up marrying my mom."

"Hm," Kurt said. "See, that makes us stepbrothers. It's not the same."

"Why does that matter?" Finn said.

"It's not a blood relation," Kurt said. "We will never have any real obligation to each other."

Finn frowned. "Why not?" he said.

"Why not what?"

"Why won't you let me care about you?" Finn asked. "Or anyone, for that matter."

Kurt's lips thinned. "My dad cares about me," he said stiffly.

"What, because he's obligated by blood?" Finn said. "Your dad doesn't care about you because of some stupid responsibility. He just loves you."

"What's your point?" Kurt asked.

Finn tried to keep his voice calm. He didn't want this ending like last night's altercation. "My point is that there are plenty of people who care about you, just because," he said. "And you won't let them."

Kurt set down his homework and crossed his arms. "Look, Finn, I don't have a very good track record with people," he said. "In elementary school, the boys wouldn't be friends with me, only the girls. In middle school, the girls realized I didn't have a crush on them, so they ditched me for the boys who did. In high school, I'm an easy target. I practically have a bullseye on my forehead."

He pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I've had a handful of crushes," he confessed. "Either I was too terrified and didn't do anything about it, or I went overboard and scared them off. I'm just not any good with people, Finn, and there's nothing I can change about that."

Finn tried to keep his facial expression as neutral as possible. He didn't think he was successful. Without thinking, Kurt tapped the earpiece of his glasses against his lips and studied he floor. "People don't like _me_, Finn," he said quietly. "They like me as an overly flamboyant stereotype. I make a great shopping buddy for my allies, and a great punching bag for my enemies. I just have to deal with it."

"Kurt, that's not true," Finn said.

Kurt didn't look like he was going to cry. He just looked thoughtful. "You know, the only people who know who I really am are my parents," he said. "My mother's already dead, and when I thought my dad was going to die…well, it sort of felt like I was going to die too. And in a way, I was."

He looked Finn in the eyes, his expression strangely soft. "I just have to wait it out," he said. "I'll go somewhere else, kick the dust of this town off my shoes. Maybe then I can find someone that I can get to understand me."

"Kurt," Finn interrupted, his voice sounding a little sharper than he had intended. "We would understand you a whole lot better _if you just let us._"

Kurt blinked, almost startled by the roughness in his voice. "I…I don't think I can," he said softly. He cleared his throat and picked up his homework. "We might have to start the episode over. You're missing all the funny parts."

"Go ahead," Finn said, settling against the couch. "I want to watch it."

Kurt reset the episode and sat back down, his legs tucked underneath him. He kept working on his homework, but Finn stretched his long arms across the top of the couch. And he was sure it wasn't anything intentional, but by the time they finished the first disc, his arm had moved from the top of the couch to Kurt's shoulders, and Kurt was sitting close to him, his homework discarded.

It wasn't much, but at least it was something.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Gah. Yet another chapter that ends in a random argument.

I have such trouble dealing with Kurt's pride. I mean, what else do I have to put the poor child through before he finally relents? Oh, it's ridiculous. He's so stubborn.

Also, I put in a little nod to one of my other favorite television shows! I think Kurt would like Arrested Development. And I think that Finn would be incredibly confused by it. Finn is the George Michael of Glee, if you will. Kurt's sort of a Maeby...maybe. Quinn would be Lindsay...Puck would be Job...Mr. Schue would be Michael...

I need to stop rambling.

Special thanks goes to Sahraylia and nonexistent puppy for their wonderful ideas that surfaced in this chapter! I really appreciate the help. See, I know how this story is going to end...but I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to get there. I have a few more incidents planned (many of them thanks to wonderful, lovely, intelligent reviewers!) but I can take all the help I can get.

But yeah. I'm really loving the Glee fandom (as you could probably tell). I have some more oneshots planned (Mercedes and Quinn helping Kurt in the immediate aftermath of Fag-gate 2010, Rachel dragging Quinn to visit Beth and Shelby, Quinn dealing with her screwed up family) and well as new chapters for my currently posted stories. And of course, the Red Bull and cookie dough story. But if you have any ideas at all, for this or for anything else, I would love to hear it!


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